


Future is Made of Relics

by tide_ms



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Post-Season/Series 02, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-19 23:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19982464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tide_ms/pseuds/tide_ms
Summary: When Michael crumbles under the weight of their reality, Georigou holds her together.





	Future is Made of Relics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mekare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekare/gifts).



> In narration, I went with 'Georgiou' instead of 'Philippa' since the former feels more in tone with M!Georgiou while the later fits Prime!Georgiou IMO.

Future turns out to be challenging.

Only because an unexpected surge of radiation has hit them on their way there, and rendered them adrift in space with no knowledge of where or when exactly they are, _and_ with barely functional ship's systems.

But if you asked Georgiou, she'd say that the crew is overthinking it. Or to be exact, Michael's overthinking it.

_She's taken someone else's shift. Again._

It's way past the middle of the night, and Michael's working with unfaltering resolve in her eyes. Probably on figuring out their location, Georgiou suspects.

  
"Control is gone, everyone is alive, the future is saved," Georgiou announces. The bridge is empty, and she has two cups in her hands. "Not to mention we've got you back aboard the ship in one piece, _why_ are you still worried?"

Michael looks at her pointedly, then returns her focus on her work.

Georgiou rolls her eyes.

"You need rest, Michael." She walks over to her. "I need rest."

With disbelief, Michael looks at her again. "What does me working an extra shift have to do with you getting or not getting rest?"

"You're overworking yourself."

"I still don't see how it is about you."

"Your mother asked me to take care of you." Georgiou speaks steadily despite how her heart becomes heavier with misplaced love. "When you overwork yourself, it means I'm not doing my job well."

Michael perks up. "First of all, I can take care of myself very well. Second, are you telling me you've taken it upon your shoulders to look after me, just because my mother asked you to?"

"I've always looked after you, Michael," Georgiou utters before she can think better of it. But upon seeing the stony look on Michael's face, she adds without concern, "and I mean you."

_The concern she feels toward Michael has been made of fragments of the love she had for another Michael. Both of them know this._

Michael doesn't miss a beat before replying, "you once held a knife to my throat."

"Haven't we moved on past unimportant details regarding our relationship?"

Michael breathes exasperatedly.

"I killed Control, doesn't that outweigh the past?" Georgiou tries jokingly.

"Did you need anything?"

Georgiou offers one of the cups to Michael in answer.

Michael gazes at the offered cup, then at her. Ease and neutrality return to her as she sighs. "I don't drink while working."

"It's tea."

She placidly places it on the console Michael's working on.

"Mine is Cosmic Rapture in case you're wondering," Georgiou continues as she heads for the captain's chair.

_She wouldn't have stayed if Michael had been unwelcoming._

"Utterly ridiculous name if you ask me," she continues.

Georgiou sits comfortably on the chair. It's not as good as her Emperor's chair, but there are things that make up for that; the commanding posture she naturally takes, the view of the bridge and the outer space (despite currently being far from spectacular), and even the sense of conquering the known and the unknown that comes along with it.

That sense doesn't quite burn through her deliciously right now. It's enticing still, though.

"I'm surprised you picked a drink with such a name."

Michae's voice draws her out of her thoughts.

"You know how Tilly gets extra talkative when she's drunk?"

Michael furrows her brows. "Tilly's drunk?! Are you sure? She wouldn't have. Not while we're lost."

"Oh, Michael, relax, would you? She's set up a ship wide alarm to sober up, it should go off any minute now," Georgiou says, recalling the image of cheery Tilly singing with a few crewmates who have looked as flushed as her. "I can't believe Saru allowed them to do that." Then a thought, a fleeing, sweet thought, makes her add nonchalantly. "You know she got drunk during several battles? just to bring more shame to our enemies for their defeat."

Michael looks confused.

"My Tilly," Georgiou explains.

The mention of the past, their present that's become the past now unexpectedly gives Georgiou a pause.

But her Tilly had died long before they even came here.

Now she's overreacting.

  
"What about our Tilly?" Michael asks softly.

Georgiou finds her standing at the foot of the chair, the cup of tea nestled in her hands.

_Our Tilly._

Michael's softness lingers; echos in the empty place. It is nice, and it makes sweetness-filled thoughts storm Georgiou.

One of these thoughts tells Georgiou how Michael's standing so close her warmth almost tangible, and another shows her how her presence used to _increase_ Michael's stress, but now it readily brings the younger woman at ease, and another reminds her that this is not her Michael and that this Michael no longer looks at her with reverence tinged with love.

Georgiou ignores these thoughts.

"I heard her mention Cosmic Rapture, and I suppose I've hoped for the same lightness and elation she's feeling."

"I thought you weren't worried about anything."

"They aren't the same, Michael."

Her own voice feels strange. Heavy.

Georgiou clears her throat. "I'll leave you to your work. Don't be here for too long."

She stands, and now she's closer to Michael.

Michael doesn't allow her to take another step. She peers at her attentively.

 _She's studying her._ And when she speaks, she does so in her usual collected tone that displays a side of her that _her_ Michael doesn't have. Didn't have. "You are burdened," Michael says.

  
_Her Vulcan side._

Georgiou has never had to get used to that side despite it being foreign to her— to her memories of her Michael because it has never made this Michael alien to her.

It makes her entirely different from her Michael.

Everything about her does.

Even the feelings currently swelling in Georgiou's heart. Concern and fondness and attachment and love, none feels misplaced or inappropriate even though maybe they should.

  
"Nothing you should worry about, Michael. I'll be heading back to my quarters now and let you find this Eden everyone has been crying over for the past two weeks."

She even smiles to convince her. But even with that, it's a real smile.

"Philippa."

Michael lays down her cup, and grasps her elbow gently. It's such a light touch, yet it burns through her clothes and skin and bones.

"Tell me."

"Why?"

Michael exclaims a bitter laughter. "Are you seriously asking that?"

"Yes." _Is she seriously asking that?_ "Are we sharing burdens now?"

Michael tightens her hold, or it turns surprisingly desperate. _Hurt_. Either way, it drives Georgiou's heart mad where recalling the life they've left behind has been holding it with a feeble pang. _Nothing to worry about._

Georgiou waits with a bated breath as Michael hesitates, as tears brim in her eyes.

"We are. We should because... because we are in the future. Alone and possibly lost," Michael begins, "because we can't find my mother, or Terralysium. Because we're far from home."

A sense of disappointment sears through Georgiou, and that annoys her.

"This isn't the first time you travel far from home, Michael," Georgiou replies evenly, and clenches her jaw when her composure barely maintains the whirl of emotions she's experiencing.

One of them stands prominent; s _he wants to comfort Michael. Reassure her._

That want tugs at her heart painfully, makes her forget her rising annoyance.

Michael seems to be trying to collect herself. "But it is. In a way it is, and you feel it, too, I know you do." She trembles and that makes Georgiou's hand dart to hold her, but Georgiou stops that foolish and silly gesture, and so her arm hovers embarrassingly in the air for a second. Michael doesn't seem to care, too caught in the aching realization that home lives in time, and they aren't in the same time as their home. "They're gone, Philippa. And we don't even know if the Federation still exists. It's only us now."

Michael's tears fall. Ache unfolds all over her face.

"It's only you and my mother now," Michael says with defeat, lowering her head. "And we can't find her."

Georgiou reaches again, and stressed though she is by how Michael has shaken up her senses, this time, she goes all the way.

There is sense in comforting Michael. There just is.

Her hand's rigid when she places it on Michael's shoulder, but it's firm when she squeezes. "We'll find her, _you_ will find her."

Her voice is resolute.

 _She_ is sincere, and perhaps Michael sees that. Perhaps... that's why Michael steps forward and leans on her.

Georgiou's breath catches in her throat, but as though she's driven by instinct, she holds Michael properly; strongly, and lets her sob her heart out on her shoulder.

"Promise me we will," Michael says amidst her sobs.

There is a demand in her voice.

It's strange, and Georgiou answer it with jest.

"I'll deny this, but you have the best crew one could ask—"

"I need you to promise me we'll find our way out of this," Michael says, and repeats in a way that briefly sends Georgiou's heart and mind into chaos. "I need _you_ to promise me, Philippa."

Instead of questioning why does Michael suddenly trusts her word and perhaps even joking about it, Georgiou does another foolish thing.

She promises Michael, and she means it.

"We will find her, Michael." Georgiou holds her tighter. "We will reach Eden."

It isn't quite a hug, but something akin to it. To its comforting nature that lasts until Tilly's ship wide alarm goes off to remind her and their fellow crewmates it's time to sober up.

Michael flinches and steps back immediately.

Georgiou isn't as quick in letting go as her, and that bothers her. _The feelings settling in her heart as though they're belonging right there bother her._

They've been closer than just; Michael sobbing against Georgiou's neck, and Georgiou holding her steady through it all, and now Michael clears her throat, evidently embarrassed.

The distance between them stretches vastly again.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Michael says, sniffing and wiping her face swiftly. All the while, avoiding looking at her.

 _She's troubled and confused_ , Geogiou reads her easily and spares her the confrontation of what has just happened.

"I honestly expected you to last a few more days before the future wears you down," Georgiou replies casually, beaming with a smile that isn't as sincere as the earlier one. "Oh, well, there are still many things on the list to get right, I suppose."

Michael refocuses, furrowing her brows.

"What list?"

"It's late, Michael. Rest, remember?"

"Philippa," Michael says, a hint of frustration in her voice.

 _That's a good sign_ , Georgiou thinks. Michael being frustrated at her means Michael isn't trapped in her sorrows.

Georgiou shrugs and makes to leave, but Michael stops her. "Thank you," she says abruptly.

She's blushing.

"For coming to the future with... with us."

She doesn't say ' _me_ ' even though it's on the tip of her tongue and Georgiou _waits_ to hear it, but she also doesn't seem to want to take it back.

"I... I'll head to bed soon. You don't have to worry," Michael finishes.

The silence that ensues is evident. Loaded with hesitation and ease.

Georgiou nods, and Michael smiles fleetingly before heading back to the console.

As she watches her, a very silly thought suggests to Georgiou to wait for Michael and keep her company, but it also brings back that annoyance from before, and it's ten times greater now. It is confusing now. So Georgiou leaves quietly, planning to drown all those strange and ridiculous thoughts into several cups of Cosmic Rapture.

She has to, otherwise they will linger and delude her into believing that the feelings she has for Michael aren't specks of shattered love gathered by the desperation for more time with _her_ Michael.


End file.
